


Wir sind endlich Weltmeister

by reynkout



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - Soccer, Alternative Universe - World Cup, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Celebratory Sex, Deutschland ist Weltmeister, Drunk Sex, Eye Color, Eye Licking, Improvised Sex Toys, M/M, Makeshift dildos, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Portugal vs. Germany, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, World Cup 2014, a little flick flack, dub-con, lots of soccer, marco is a kinky little shit, marco likes soccer too much, mentioned german soccer players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynkout/pseuds/reynkout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's time for the World Cup again, and Marco is a die-hard soccer fan from Portugal. When he goes to his first match (Portugal vs. Germany) to cheer on his team, things don't go so well and his country ends up losing the match. He mopes around, going to a local hole-in-the-wall bar to drink away his despair... Until he meets a German man named Jean. Marco wants that sexy piece of ass in his bed tonight. And did he mention how pretty Jean's eyes were?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Schade, dass Portugal nicht gewonnen hat.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again, peeps! How ya doing?
> 
> Alrighty. This was something that haunted me for _weeks_ on end and I just had to write it while publishing all the other ones. Actually, to be honest, this is my first written fanfic since I got back to the US from Germany. So yeah, I was really super slow on this one. I have my doubts about it now. Gah.
> 
> If you can't tell from my descriptions about soccer in this piece, I'm a really hardcore soccer fan who cheered on Germany all the way through the World Cup. Watching the Portugal-Germany match was totally insane because I love the German team so much, but I also like Ronaldo (I've got posters of him on the walls of my room; unfortunately more posters of Schweinsteiger than him, though). It was pretty shocking to see how the game turned out, but I was happy nonetheless.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing about soccer (I wasn't planning for this to become a smutty thing). Have fun!

The crowd went wild when Müller scored his third goal on the 45+1’ mark for Germany. This was it, this was going to be the end score of the game. Marco knew this and he groaned, pushing his face into his sweaty palms.

Damn it. Portugal was supposed to be owning this match right now. Marco had come all the way out to Brazil for this, and now his homeland’s team was getting their ass served to them on a silver platter. With cutlery. And a currywurst. Damn it.

When the camera zoomed up on Cristiano Ronaldo, Marco felt the urge to wipe off his colored war paint from his face. Ronaldo was arrogant, yes, but at this point he just looked plain done with the game. Seeing his soccer idol look done made him want to leave the stadium, pack up his bags, and go home. Earlier, at 37’, Pepe was flashed a red card, causing Marco to curse loudly with his brows furrowed. This was seriously depressing. Portugal hadn’t even scored one goal and this Thomas Müller guy was hitting it in the goal like it was natural. Marco stopped screaming with the rest of the fans. He was pretty sure the commentators had stopped, too.

Well, as soon as this match was over, Marco guessed Germany would end up with three points and Portugal with none. Even overtime couldn’t do anything good for them. All luck was on Germany’s team and none of Portugal’s. Marco could imagine his papa at home, watching the match on TV, close to throwing his hands up in the air whenever the ball was stolen from one of Portugal’s members. He snickered a little; his papa was always so into soccer, which was probably why he was allowed to fly to Brazil for the game. A little party wouldn’t hurt, either.

Unfortunately, Marco wouldn’t be partying in any celebratory way today. His team was losing to, sorry to say, the potato lovers. Instead, he’d be moping around the hotel, going to some quiet hole-in-the-wall bar to drink his broken soccer soul away until the next day.

Ninety minutes and the soccer match was finally over. Germany had won, fair and square. Four to zero. Marco and the others around him groaned in despair. It seemed like an eternity before Marco was able to get his freckled butt out of the arena to catch the crowded bus back to his hotel. He was pushed, shoved, even kicked by some of the drunk people as they climbed out of the bus at each stop. He held on, though, doing his best to stop himself from getting in a fight with anyone. There was no time for that. He wanted to get back to his room and sleep his jetlag away, then go out and get some chow. Marco wasn’t exactly in the best of moods right now, and he could tell that neither were his fellow Portugal fans.

Marco shoved his way into the elevator, pressing the 28 button. Yes, the hotel he checked in to was that fancy. With the help of his mama and papa, he was able to book a luxury hotel that he would be staying in for a few weeks while the World Cup played out.

Unlocking his door with a slide of his hotel card Marco shut the door behind himself and flopped onto the bed, not bothering to toe off his shoes. He fell asleep just like that; his arms spread out and face to the side, his cheekbone digging into the sheets. He lay on his stomach as he drifted off to Dreamland.

When Marco awoke, however, the first thing he noticed was the drool soaking into the bed from his gaping mouth. He lifted himself off the bed, cracking his neck on both sides before taking off his shoes and pants. He wiped at his mouth before shucking off his shirt as well. His colored war paint stained the bedsheets. Whatever.

A cold shower was good, as it was always so hot in Brazil. Marco shivered in relief, the ice cold water running down his tanned, freckled shoulders. He scrubbed his hair with the complementary shampoos that smelled fragrant, like a tropical jungle.

Drying off, Marco grabbed a pair of fresh clothes from his suitcase and changed into them. A simple tank top and yellow shorts would do. He hadn’t bothered to shave in the shower, keeping the dark fuzz under his arms. Not that that was a big deal or anything.

Yelping a generally good-reviewed bar around town, Marco locked up his room and took the elevator down to the central lobby, calling for a taxi. He sat in the back seat, uncomfortable. Thankfully, nothing bad happened and he wasn’t ripped off by the driver and his ridiculous fares. The place was only a few blocks from the hotel.

So here he was, at this bar that was filled with soccer fans, the walls decorated with various flags and soccer star posters. The TV blared, but the customers were louder. Most of them were all celebrating, clinking bottles together and cheering, singing popular soccer songs, and more than a few different languages were spoken. Marco sat himself down, ordering himself a beer and coxinhas (Marco guessed they were like fried potato balls with chicken and cheese in the middle), receiving both of them with a lime slice on a plate. He sipped at his beer, scowling at the taste. This didn’t look like this was going to be a promising night.

“The lemon,” Marco heard someone say in English.

“Excuse me?” he asked, turning. He faced a man with blond hair, darker blond at the bottom which was due to his undercut.

“The fruit on your plate. Squeeze it into your drink.” A German accent.

 _Oh, he means the lime_ , Marco thought.

Marco took the lime, letting the juice drip into his beer. He looked back at the blond guy, and the guy nodded. _Go on, drink it_. He gripped the bottle, then took a swig.

The taste was better, a little sweet even. His eyes went wide, his chocolate brown orbs looking at the German dude next to him. The blond smiled.

“‘s it good?” he asked. Marco nodded, grinning a little. Maybe this would be okay, tonight. “Good… It usually helps when you put citrus with it. Never tastes good without it.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Marco said. “Thanks, man.” He dug into the coxinhas; oh yeah, these were _tasty_. He could pop them in his mouth like no tomorrow if he could order that many. Unfortunately, money was always a problem.

The blonde leaned on the counter with one arm, “I’m Jean, by the way.”

“Oh, Marco,” Marco bit his lower lip and smiled a little shyly. “nice to meet you.”

Jean stuck his hand out, and Marco reciprocated. They shook hands, looking into each other’s eyes as they did with grins on their faces. Marco noticed how light amber Jean’s eyes were, how they had patterns of flecked hazel-green towards the pupil. They were exquisite, nothing quite like anything Marco had ever seen before. Sure, there were people in his hometown that had light eyes but they were never as interesting and intricate as the ones he stared into at this moment.

Jean must’ve read the freckled man’s thoughts, because he didn’t strike up a conversation until Marco shifted his eyes to his shoulder.

“Big game, wasn’t it, today?”

Marco nodded. He didn’t know what else to say. It was such a disappointing day that he didn’t even feel like being friendly like he usually was and socializing. He pushed his down spirits away, trying to act happy in front of the man in front of him.

“Yes, a huge game.” he said. “It’s too bad Portugal lost.” He averted his eyes away from Jean’s shoulder and to the billboard hanging on the wall.

Jean laughed, low and… pretty sexy. Marco was practically _swooning_ over the man. “Ach, that’s too bad. They played their best, I guess.”

“Are you kidding me?” Marco snapped, but then calmed his voice immediately. He didn’t want to get beat up. “I’m, wow, I’m sorry. I mean, I just find that they really weren’t into the match is all.” He bowed his head, looking at the floor now.

“Hey, Marco, hey,” Jean didn’t seem at all phased by his outburst. His voice was calm and flowed like water. “Marco,” They locked eyes. “Yeah, I agree with you. I don’t mean it in a bad way. We good?”

The brunette shrugged his shoulders, not angry at all. “Sure,”

“So, about yourself…”

Marco and Jean were involved in a big conversation that carried on into the early hours of the next day. They both shared stories, learning about each other. Jean came from the central city of Cologne. He was the only child, living alone in a “cramped, shitty little apartment”. His parents were divorced, and he was raised by his mother who took them to France every once in a while to visit his grandparents. If Marco had taken his French classes more seriously, he would have been able to converse with Jean in French and made even more of a connection.

He told the German about himself, about him living with his mama and papa still while he studied at a college not too far away from his house. He told him about his hobbies, which consisted of mainly sports and a lot of… yeah, just sports really. Marco blushed a little when Jean praised him for being so athletic, saying that he wished his body was fit enough to handle more than an hour of constant running back and forth. Jean gave him some more information about himself, saying that he was always into the arts like literature; totally unlike Marco.

Drink after drink was poured out for them as they conversed, and soon Marco’s thoughts were starting to become hazy. He should’ve stopped but when Jean offered to treat him for a round of shots, he just couldn’t refuse. They clinked their glasses in cheers, then downed it. The burn of tequila warmed his throat, smooth and easy for him to swallow. Jean grinned at him, his teeth caught between his lips. Somewhere in Marco’s head, he had the urge to want to lick those lips with his tongue. He wanted to tell Jean that he was sexy; that he wanted to drag the blonde back to his hotel room and fuck the living daylights out of him. He developed a thirst for Jean that _had_ to be quenched tonight. A rosy color flooded his freckled cheeks, and it wasn’t just because of the hard liquor they’d been drinking.

The bar erupted in cheers when a few members from the German soccer team trailed in, security at their side. Jean stuck a pinky into his ear, deeming it too loud and stopping his conversation with Marco abruptly. He smiled when one of the team members recognized him and waved. He nodded, acknowledging him with a point of his chin.

Marco stared at Jean with wide eyes. “You know him?” He was amazed.

“That’s what brings me out to Brazil,” Jean shouted over the hustle and bustle of excited soccer fans. “or I’d be at home, watching reruns of the game on the news.”

Marco understood, although he couldn’t say the same thing. He was seemingly a die-hard soccer fan who loved his country’s team. He would travel anywhere to see them win, even if it was just once in a million times.

“It’s so loud in here!” Jean exclaimed. Well, it _was_ a local bar after all. And his German buddies just happened to walk in, too.

Marco jumped at the opportunity, “You want to go somewhere else?” he asked. “I have a room in the hotel.”

“Which one? The one near this place?” Jean piqued.

“The one a few blocks from here,” Marco looked at his shotglass, a little nervous that Jean would refuse.

“Then let’s go.” The freckled man heard him say, and looked up surprised.

The two of them paid for the drinks, then took a cab back to Marco’s hotel. When they reached it, Jean hopped out of the car, holding his hand out for the brunette. Marco found it peculiar, but put his hand in Jean’s. He was pulled onto the concrete with a yelp. Jean laughed, and it was melodic to his ears. Marco and Jean were lucky, as they boarded an empty elevator. They had space to actually breathe as they waited to arrive on the right floor. Marco gave little glances at the blonde, now unsure if he really did want Jean in his bed tonight. His body said “hell yes!” but his brain was telling him confusing things. He was worried.

“Got something on your mind?” Jean noticed his latest glance.

Marco looked away, staring straight ahead of him. Shit, he’d been caught. “No, not really.”

The elevator dinged, sliding its doors to let its passengers out. Jean followed Marco to his room number. When the freckled man had unlocked the door, he held it open for the German. He motioned for the guy to enter, chuckling when all Jean did was stand awkwardly in his place.

“Do I need to verbally invite you?” Marco teased.

Jean rolled his eyes. “No,” He trudged into the room mockingly. “Thanks for the door service,”

“You’re welcome.” Was the term “door service” even correct in English? Whatever. The point was still made.

Marco shut the door behind him. Now it was just the two of them in his hotel room, alone to talk and… stuff. Maybe. Hopefully. If that would happen, Marco could die a happy man. Perhaps. An uneasiness still stirred in his chest. Geez, what if Jean wasn’t even into Marco?

“What a nice place, all to yourself,” Jean commented, looking around. He peeked into the bathroom. “Oha! You’re living luxury right now!”

“Just for the World Cup time,” Marco reminded him. He sat down on the bed.

Jean joined him, finally, after checking out every corner of the hotel room. He scooted close to the brunette, a few inches parting them from one another. Marco twiddled his thumbs, not sure what to talk about. Jean was so close to him; he could easily tackle the blonde to the bed and commence a makeout session right then and there. Probably not the best idea that came into Marco’s mind.

“So, how did you manage to book this place, of all things? It must’ve cost a fortune!” Jean asked, thankfully the first one to speak up.

“It’s a long story, but I basically convinced my papa to let me go to this World Cup. He really wanted to come with but, unfortunately, due to his health, he couldn’t travel with me; Papa changed the room for me. But look, now I’m in a fancy place that’s bigger than I can handle!”

“I can see that,” Jean nodded toward the occupied space in the room, noticing Marco’s belongings only took up one fourth of the room. “Even this bed!” He slammed down onto the sheets. Marco laughed, finding it funny. “You could easily fit three people in here, no problem! It’s really comfortable, too.” Jean yawned a little. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Almost three in the morning, last time I checked…” the brunette replied, doing his best not to take in the way Jean’s shirt rode up to reveal the stretch of tasty skin over even more delectable pelvic bones. Marco willed himself not to drool. His mouth made a little “o” shape. Oh no, there goes his mouth, “Jean,”

“Yeah?” He answered, his eyes closed.

Marco leaned over the other, sloppily trying to cover up his unsureness. He aligned his face to Jean’s, closing in for a kiss. When their lips pressed together, all he could think was how soft the blonde’s lips were. What caught him off guard was the positive reaction Jean gave. Calloused hands trailed down Marco’s chest to grasp firmly onto his waist. He gave a tug. The brunette twisted to position himself on top of Jean, biting on the blonde’s lip as he did. Jean opened his mouth, slithering his tongue between Marco’s. He lapped at his teeth. The freckled man moaned, grinding his hips down into Jean beneath him. Marco only broke the kiss because he wanted to ask a question:

“Are you sure about this?”

Jean looked into his eyes with blown pupils. “Are you serious? Of course I’m sure about it. Didn’t I just let you kiss me?” A smile played on his lips.

“But…”

“I’m gonna let you top the hell out of me, Marco. You better not regret this.”

Marco chewed on his lip, jittery. Jean had just _proposed_ that he could flog his ass all night. Man, could a handsome German like Jean woo someone into sleeping with him. Marco took a hand off of his waist, immediately twining their hands together. The freckled man jerked his crotch into Jean’s, feeling his partner for the night sport a half-chub. He licked up a cheek to a tawny brown eye, the dark blond eyelashes tickling his pink organ. He drew it back.

“I love your eyes so much,” he panted. “Ah, oh Jean, let me see your beautiful eye color,”

Jean forced his eye open, only to get an eyeful of Marco’s tongue. It stung his eyeball; he gave out a little cry of discomfort. Marco slurped at Jean’s eye, lathering it in his saliva. He smiled, squeezing Jean’s hand harder than before. His breath ghosted over the blonde’s face, then he retracted his hot tongue from Jean’s eye. Jean shut his eyes, then, blinking hard, he rubbed at his previously licked eye. Marco snickered, licking a path over his exposed throat. He stopped to suck at the German’s Adam’s apple. A groan spilled from Jean’s mouth.

“God, Marco, was that necessary?” he questioned half-heartedly, his eye tearing to clear the spit from his vision.

“Sorry, I thought it was hot.” Jean just stared at him, as if he was deciding if Marco was serious or not. He let it go after a second of thought.

Marco sat up, straddling the blonde’s hips. He yanked his tank top off, showing his tanned, freckled torso. He heard what could’ve been a German swear come from Jean as he tossed his clothing article to the floor. Next, he hopped off the blonde, standing. He crooked a finger at Jean, arching an eyebrow. Jean stood, pressing their bodies together.

“No, c’mon, Jean. We need to get nakey,” Marco huffed playfully.

“Didn’t know you knew that word,” Jean practically giggled at “nakey”. “Your English is pretty good, Marco.”

Marco sighed, “I went on an exchange in Britain for a couple of months when I was in secondary school. It wasn’t the best time in my life,”

“Oh really? You should have picked the USA,” Jean reached a hand out to trace the freckled collarbone in front of him. “I had a blast,”

“Less talk, more do.”

Marco lifted the hem of Jean’s shirt, helping him out of his clothing. Jean pulled his pants down, fumbling with Marco’s shorts. The freckled man took it into his own hands, shucking both of them of their remaining clothes and discarded it onto the floor. He backed Jean up into the side of the bed, then kneeled and wrapped his arms behind the blonde’s knees.

“Alley-up!” he exclaimed, chucking Jean onto the middle of the mattress.

Jean let out a surprised squeak. He landed with an “oof!” on his back, only to see the brunette sliding up to him.

“That’s a new one,” he muttered.

“What? No one has done that to you in bed?” Marco inquired.

Jean would’ve made a snarky comeback, but Marco already had his mouth on his flushed nipple, his other teased by a finger. They perked up, stiff as nibs, and Marco tantalizingly suckled at him. He flicked his tongue, drawing out little whimpers from the other. Apparently, Jean’s nipples were one of his sensitive spots. The brunette went further, kissing down Jean’s diaphragm, to his stomach and all the way to those scrumptious pelvic bones. He swirled his tongue across them. The blonde tasted amazing, a bit salty from what Marco guessed was due to all the sweating in the hot heat of Brazil, something tangy that was purely Jean, and some type of aromatic sweetness on the man’s skin.

“Ah!” Jean groaned when Marco suddenly popped the head of his dick into his wet mouth. He laved at it, humming around it. “You, you really’ve got a thing for licking stuff,” he squinted at the brunette, keeping himself in check.

Marco moaned in response, the vibrations going around Jean’s member. Another swear from Jean’s mouth, and the freckled man stuffed his cock into his left cheek, bobbing his head. The rub against silky cheek and the rigidness of Marco’s teeth was a new feeling for Jean; he bucked up for more. 

The blond stuck his hands into those silky locks of dark hair, tugging at them ever so slightly. Marco slurped, his face heating up. His freckles were highlighted on his reddening cheeks.

“ _Du heilige Scheiße_ ,” Jean muttered under his breath when Marco popped off of him and tongued the slit of his head. “‘ch, _Mensch_ , Marco,”

A wicked grin took over Marco’s face as he slid away from the blonde. He flicked at Jean’s length, earning a hiss. Climbing away from the bed, the freckled man directed his attention to finding something in his suitcase set in the corner. He earned a whine of desperation from Jean.

“What, what are you looking?” Jean was able to stutter out, his English grammar starting to fail him.

“Found it,” Marco lifted himself from his haunches and turned around to show the blonde the object in his hand. It was a vuvuzela, a noisy thing that plenty of soccer fans blew into to cheer the teams on.

Jean sat up on the bed. “A vuvuzela? But didn’t they ban it from the _Weltmeist_ \--, I mean, the World Cup this year?” he questioned, a little confused.

Marco grinned even wider. “Just because it’s banned doesn’t mean I don’t have one.” he reasoned, strutting back to Jean, noticing the way the blonde’s tawny eyes were focused on the package between his legs. He smiled even more when Jean saw the bottle of lube he was hiding previously, his eyes wide. “Ever played with a vuvuzela before?” Jean made an audible gulping sound, probably asking himself how he even got into this situation in the first place. He shook his head with a nervous yes, too embarrassed to say no. “Oh, have you? Then you must be an expert, Mr. Jean.”

“Not really,” the guy looked away, a little flustered. “Are, are we going to use it?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Marco stuck his tongue out playfully.

The freckled man backed Jean down into the sheets, settling his face between Jean’s legs. He hiked them up, spreading them until he could get a clear look at Jean’s cherry colored pucker below. He pecked the inside of his thighs, showering Jean’s smooth cheeks with butterfly kisses. Jean gasped, not expecting Marco to be so gentle with him. Maybe he should have, considering Marco’s good manners, but there wasn’t any time to stop and ask himself. Then, something caught Jean off-guard; Marco nibbled at his sac, two fingers already pressed to his behind slicked with lube.

A finger slid in all the way to the knuckle, causing Jean’s breath to hitch. It slid in and out, almost painfully slow. Marco was being too damn gentle, he thought, but no; the second finger joined, then, following immediately, a third. He forced them in despite the pained noises from Jean.

“Ach!” Jean nearly arched off the bed. “Shit!”

Marco quirked a brow, a devilish expression on his face. He sucked a ball into his mouth, moaning and twirling it around. He spread his fingers in Jean, thrusting them in and out, earning drawn out sighs and groans. Oh boy, was Jean _vocal_. He sounded like a porn star, moans coming from his pretty little lips. The freckled man hummed a tune, now nuzzling Jean’s balls with his nose. He pulled his digits all the way out of Jean before slamming them back in again. Jean threw his head back, sounds coming out in the most wanton way possible. The guttural groans shook Marco’s core of patience. He wanted to pound his dick into the man, but that would have to wait… after the vuvuzela.

“Hehh..?” Jean looked through thick lashes at Marco as he was left empty when his partner’s fingers were taken out of him. Instead, something plastic pressed against his entrance. “M-Marco?”

“Shh, baby,” Marco’s voice was soothing as he pushed the tip of the vuvuzela into the blonde man.

Jean moaned loudly, eyes half-open as he took the vuvuzela. It was uncomfortable, the plastic texture not really something Jean found comfortable. Despite that, it moved in and out of him in a rhythm that made him pant and wiggle his hips for more. He let his mouth hang open, saliva pooling up in his cavern as he stuck his tongue out like a dog. After a few moments, the vuvuzela no longer felt awkward in him. In fact, he wanted more. He wanted to feel something thicker, that being Marco’s big cock. He drooled just thinking of it, his body temperature rising drastically.

“Enough,” he whined, fingers curling into his palms. “Marco, enough.”

“Hmm? But doesn’t it feel good?” Marco brushed the vuvuzela into a bundle of nerves. Jean let out something close to a whinnie.

“Marcooo,” he whimpered. “I can’t hold me anymore. Want you. Now.”

The vuvuzela was ripped from him, making him yip. Marco giggled, putting on a condom and slathering the lube onto his member. He closed his eyes, enjoying his hand as he stroked himself in front of Jean. Jean wrapped a leg around Marco, signaling that he was ready.

“My, my,” Marco smirked. “Too impatient, Jean? Can’t wait for my thick, long ding-dong?”

“ _Du Arschkekse_ , who even taught you that vocabulary?” said Jean.

“Internet goes a long way,”

Jean was suddenly bent in half with his legs held high by Marco’s strong arms, the blunt head of Marco’s dick bumping into Jean’s entrance. They stared at each other for a moment before Marco initiated to push in. Jean gave way easily, sucking Marco in like he couldn’t get enough. The hot suction around his member caused him to let out a ragged breath, fucking the blonde with shallow thrusts. Jean kept his eyes, locking them with Marco’s chocolate brown ones. They held conversations there, speaking to each other silently as Marco started a faster rhythm that felt good for both of them.

Marco was amazing; Jean had never taken a dick so perfect before. Hell, he’d never had someone so good like Marco in his entire life. He stirred Jean up inside out, going at a pace that was too much and, at the same time, not enough. When Marco hit his prostate, Jean _screamed_ his lungs out. He let moans out unchecked, getting louder and louder, octave by octave as Marco continued to thrust into him. Jean grabbed at the bedsheets, doing his best to ground himself. His mind was slipping, his brain cloudy and thoughts muddled so much he couldn’t even make a coherent sentence. Not even a simple one.

“Jean,” His name spilled from Marco’s mouth. “Oooh, Jeaaan, uhhhh,”

Jean mumbled something similarly close to the freckled man’s own name, but was cut off when Marco pulled at his arms, dragging him upward. He was repositioned to sit in Marco’s lap. Jean clenched at Marco’s shoulders, resting his head there as he was pounded into.

His nipples were teased, Marco’s fingers finding their way to them. The pinch felt fantastic, sending major signals to his brain. Jean shook his head against the freckled man, chewing at his lip.

Marco wasn’t going to last. The way Jean clenched down on him felt like a vice and it was drawing him closer and closer to the edge. His thrusts were becoming erratic, still hitting Jean in deep places. He closed his eyes, focusing on riding Jean as hard as he could. It didn’t help when Jean bit into the crook of his neck, leaving love bites everywhere. He thrust harder, gritting his teeth together in his effort.

Jean moaned, gnawing on Marco’s skin. The harder Marco went, the more his dick would run into Jean’s sensitive spot. He was crying, desperately wanting to find purchase. The only thing on his lips was Marco’s name, being chanted like a mantra. He didn’t even want to reach down and stroke his little Jean Jr.; Marco’s thrusts were enough to electrify and sizzle his nerves.

Marco knew he was going to surpass cloud nine soon, and now would be a good time to unravel and just fucking _come_. He grunted, slamming fast and hard into Jean before stars exploded behind his eyes and his lungs seemed to stop functioning.

“Aah!” Jean’s hips met Marco’s in time, moving even after Marco stilled. He fucked himself on Marco’s rigid member until he was coming himself. “Marco!” he shouted his partner’s name, splattering his seed all over both their abdomens.

They stayed there for a while, their breathing slowing finally. They embraced one another, kissing sensually through the post-orgasmic haze. When Marco made the first move, Jean winced. He slid out of Jean, the condom slipping off of his dick a little. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, pulling the rest out of Jean and off his dick before tying it off before it made a mess everywhere. He kissed Jean’s forehead before nudging him a little. Jean got off of Marco reluctantly, allowing the tanned man to dispose of the protection.

When Marco came back, Jean had already situated himself in the bed, covers already over his body. Marco smiled, crawling in next to him. They snuggled, cuddling. Jean played with the edge of the bedsheets, both of them saying nothing for the time being. Then, Jean held up a section of the sheets to Marco’s face.

“What happened here?” He pointed to the smeared war paint. “I hope that wasn’t from us.”

Marco chucked tiredly. “No, Jean. That’s from my face earlier today.”

“You were so depressed that you slept with your paint still on?”

“Something like that,” Marco exhaled, then yawned sleepily. “Come on, let’s get some sleep, babe.” The blonde gave him a look. “Yeah, I’m letting you sleep here,”

Jean nodded in approval. “You still won, Marco. Tonight was your victory celebration.”

Marco smooched Jean’s cheek, brushing back the blond bangs from his forehead.

“ _Good night_ , Jean.”


	2. Te Amo, Auf Wienerschnitzel, Goodbye!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of the World Cup finals!
> 
> What do couples do when their team wins championship?  
> ...Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday, and it's been a week since the birthday of a beautiful, talented [artist](http://thisismouseface.tumblr.com/)! So, happy belated birthday!!  
> I am so sorry this is late. It was supposed to be done on her birthday, but it didn't happen. Anyway, this is it, buddies! This is the end of _Wir sind endlich Weltmeister_.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> It's not very serious... ugh. You'll see.

He wasn’t sure about changing teams so abruptly.

When he had something of a fling with a German by the name of Jean Kirstein (a hot dude with a last name that was, for him, difficult to pronounce), Marco abandoned his team spirit for Portugal and went on over to the other side; he was cheering on the Germans now. That’s right. Marco, a full-blood, Portuguese born-citizen was on _Germany’s_ side for the World Cup.

The night Portugal lost to Germany, Marco met Jean in a local bar and they ended up tumbling into Marco’s hotel room for a one night fuck. They fit undeniably well; Marco knew that he couldn’t afford to let go of this man. In the morning, Jean was passed out in his bed right next to the freckled man. Marco stroked his hair softly as he slept peacefully. When Marco leaned in to steal a kiss, however, Jean woke, yawning rudely in his face. They both laughed, all “morning-after” awkwardness thankfully avoided. Marco gathered up his guts and asked Jean out, his English coming out sounding a little weird, but Jean got the message. To Marco’s relief, the blonde had nodded, saying yes and closing in for a kiss; a kiss symbolizing the start of their new relationship.

From then on, they went to their desired soccer matches together, holding hands every so often as they waited in anticipation for their favorite team to win. When Jean’s motel room was up, Marco offered for him to share his own he was able to pay in advance for the entire World Cup time, even the day of the finals (with the help of his papa). Jean agreed, thanking Marco by taking him out to a nice restaurant that served huge portions of the best Brazilian dishes. After that, well… let’s just say that he serviced his Portuguese boyfriend that night in every way possible.

For Marco, it seemed like the whole World Cup time was a dream. He didn’t have to go to his classes, save for the online lessons that always came with homework. Jean worked on his laptop, calling on his phone and attending meetings via Skype. Besides school and work, they lived quite a lovey-dovey life together. 

Since eating out was getting too expensive, Jean offered to use the mini kitchen they had in the hotel room; Marco agreed, suggesting that they should cook the most typical foods from their country. So they did. Jean made a meal of extra large schnitzel and, on another day, his favorite meal, which turned out to be an omelette topped with a type of sauce Marco had never tasted before. There were countless dishes of food, but Marco also made some of his family recipes. He once made Mão de Vaca Com Grão, chickpeas stewed with cow’s feet and vegetables, which resulted in Jean going faint after hearing what the ingredients were. Marco doubled over in laughter when Jean tried translating the name: _Hand of Cow with Grain_. Marco was so content with life here in Brazil that he never wanted the World Cup to end.

But, sadly, all things that go up have to come down sometime. Now, he and Jean were getting ready in Jean’s fan paraphernalia for the World Cup final: Germany vs. Argentina. After this match and, hopefully, celebration, the two would have to part ways and fly back to their countries. It would be a challenge to keep up their long distance relationship, but Marco pushed the thought aside. He smoothed out the jersey Jean lent him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wear this?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“Positive.” Marco gave him a stare. The blonde rolled his eyes. “I have my war paint.” He pointed to his face, covered in Germany’s flag colors. His whiskey eyes shone brighter in contrast to the paint. “And this,” Jean grinned widely as he puffed out his bare chest. On it, in red, was the word “SCHLAND” in all caps.

Marco put a palm to his face, groaning. His boyfriend was such a dork sometimes. “What does that mean anyway?”

“Means short for ‘ _Deutschland_ ’,” Jean pecked the freckled man’s cheek, leaving a yellow-gold lip stain on it. “Don’t worry about it, Marco. It’s a national inside joke.”

Marco hummed, but didn’t say anything more. He slipped on his shorts, facing Jean and puckered his lips, tapping the apples of his cheeks. “Hit me with that color,” he said. Jean smeared on the three colors over those freckles; black, red, and gold. The gold paint was more of a mustard yellow on his skin tone, but it was the thought that counted. One last look in the bathroom mirror, and Marco deemed himself ready. He looked back to Jean, who was busy securing his scrapbook-looking poster of Bastian Schweinsteiger with tape. “Oh my God, Jean. Is that really necessary?” He couldn’t stop reading the sign:

**Mad cuz we’re Schweinstylin’ YOU?**

“Of course it’s necessary!” Jean exclaimed. He held it up with a muttered “done”. “We’re going to win today, so I’ve got to show them who’s boss.”

The freckled man made an exasperated sigh, “Get outta here, you.”

“‘You’, meaning by ‘we’,” Jean corrected. He grabbed his stuff, ready for the game.

“Go!” Marco snapped, like commanding a dog. He grinned when the blonde’s face showed a bit of surprise.

“Fine, fine. Going!”

* * *

The stadium was absolutely packed. The couple held each other by the forearms as they navigated through the swarms of fans, that way no one would split them apart by whacking either Jean or Marco’s hand away. The blonde led the way, knowing exactly where he was going. They’d spent top dollar for seats with Jean’s fellow German friends. Their place was right with all the other fans, everyone painted in some way or form. Some people actually had full body suits in black, red, and gold. Marco stared in awe at his fellow fans. Sure, when he and Jean had gone to other matches Germany played, it was incredible, but today was more than that. It was spectacular; Marco almost couldn’t believe his coffee bean colored eyes.

“Hey,” Marco snapped out of his hypnotized state; Jean grinned at him.

“Hi,” Freckled cheeks plumped up because his smile was wide. Jean let go of his forearm, sitting him down. “Oh, we’re here,” Marco’s smile turned sheepish. Just then, Jean’s friends greeted them, shouting in German.

“Yo!” Jean yelled back. He seemed so happy to reunite with his buddies. Everyone shook hands, Marco clearly not used to the firmness of the handshakes. This one beefy blond guy almost wobbled his entire being while a brown haired girl squeezed his hand until it hurt.

“The game’s starting!” she shouted over all the loud noise, Jean translating for Marco. “Look, there’s our boys!” Her finger pointed in the direction of the big screen overhead on the other side of the stadium.

Sure enough, the German soccer players were coming out onto the field as well as the team from Argentina. Jean’s friends jumped up and down and started singing some song Marco had no idea about. Instead, he put two fingers to his lips, whistling loudly. Jean was yelling something encouraging toward his team. They fell silent when the Argentinian anthem played, trained to respect the other country. Marco followed along, not wanting to be an oddball. This was kind of different from his experiences cheering for Portugal. It had a different feel to it.

Then, the music stopped and another instrumental came on shortly after. Jean took Marco’s hand in his, swinging it back and forth as he belted out his country’s song with the others. Marco smiled, not really sure what to do. He mouthed words, looking at Jean’s for guidance. When it was over, everyone around them erupted into cheers, and Jean gave him a big high-five.

The game had everyone tense; it had everyone on the edge of their seats. Argentina hit one in, Jean crying out with the rest of his friends with a big “NEIN!” in the air. Marco ran his hands down his face, but then saw the scoreboard: 0-0.

“It didn’t count!” He jumped up for joy, totally relieved. “Jean, it didn’t count!”

There was always someone screaming their lungs out as the match continued. Marco’s ears were buzzing as he waited for a goal. But none came. Halftime wasn’t even a breather. The girl with the brown hair, her name was Sasha from what Marco overheard, brought snacks in her pouch. She offered pretzel sticks and Haribo gummi bears. The chocolate she had melted in the Brazilian heat; a pout settled on her face until she downed a handful of gummi bears. As it turned out, Marco really loved the clear colored bears because the taste reminded him of pineapple and pears. Jean crunched on pretzels, offering one to his boyfriend nonchalantly. Marco accepted it, beaming, closing his lips around the pretzel stick. He smirked when the blonde blushed, cramming the snack into Marco’s face in mock-retaliation. Jean’s friends pulled faces at them, making gross kissing noises that made the freckles on Marco’s face disappear into a flood of pink staining his cheeks.

“Oh my God, guys,” He hid his face. “Stop,”

The beefy blond guy, Reiner, slapped him on the back. “Don’t think anything of it.” he said in a heavy accent. “Right, Bertl?” Reiner looked to the tall brunette man standing next to him who was wearing a tank top that looked soaked through with sweat. Bertl just nodded.

Minutes passed, halftime already over, and there _still_ wasn’t any progress. Marco was getting discouraged, just like the first game he went to when Portugal lost to Germany. What if Argentina pulled out some fancy trick and scored a goal? What if Germany couldn’t make a comeback? Would the finals be another disappointment to him? His thoughts stopped when Jean shouted something. He scanned the audience around him; they were all distressed. He peered at the timer. The match had already hit its 90 minutes, but they would be going overtime until someone scored. Hell, this was nerve-wracking. Marco wiped droplets of perspiration from his forehead.

“Aua!” Jean clapped a hand on the stern of his own head as Bastian Schweinsteiger took a fist to his face; he got up to get some treatment. “They fucking bloodied him!” Jean told Marco, obviously not happy about it. Marco was a little irked, too.

“Jean,” he asked suddenly. An idea to participate popped into his head. He wasn’t going to sit out on this, considering today was the big World Cup final.

“Hmm?”

“I want to cheer Bastian on. What do I say?” The freckled man was pretty sure he didn’t phrase that correctly.

“Then…” Jean held hands with Marco. Bastian returned to the field, blood-free. “ _Jetzt geht’s los!_ Here we go!” He began to chant it loudly.

“ _Jetzt geht’s los!_ ” 

“ _Yet’s gaet’s lohs!_ ” tried Marco. Some girl with sandy blond hair next to him sniggered at his accent. But Jean looked delighted that Marco was attempting to learn his mother language. The blonde held up his Schweinstylin’ poster, waving it around.

“ _Jetzt geht’s los!_ ”

“ _Yet’s gaet’s lohs!_ ” 

Soon, everyone around them started to yell it, too. Marco’s face almost split in two from his wide grin; he was having so much fun now. Both he and Jean were rooting for Germany, and so were those around them. Adrenaline rushed through their veins, heightening their senses. Marco would forever label this memory as one of the best times of his life. He hoped Jean would, too.

Mario Götze was put onto the field. His jogging reminded Marco of a little ferret for some reason or another. When he told Jean, the blond man laughed so hard his stomach hurt. He also said Thomas Müller looked like Elmo, and Jean was almost keeling over. Then, the final moments came.

It was the 112’, and Germany was advancing toward the goal. Then, by miraculous chance, the entire stadium went up in screams.

Mario had shot a goal for Germany. 1-0, at 113’ mark.

“HOORAH!”

“ _JA!_ ”

“ _SIM!_ ” _Yes!_ Marco blurted in Portuguese. His fist pumped into the air. Happiness overtook his body, and he embraced Jean in a tight hug. Jean pat him on the shoulder blade, smiling like an idiot. “You’re going to be World Cup champion,”

Jean and his buddies got the crowd to jump around, singing songs that went “ _olé, olé olé, olé_ ” and so forth. Marco deemed it his favorite soccer song, getting pumped up with all the others. Finally, finally, the match was declared over. Germany had won the World Cup. Marco threw his hands up into the air, crying out because he was so happy.

“ _WIR SIND WELTMEISTER!_ ” roared Reiner, crushing his friend Bertl in his arms. He was that joyful.

“We’re World Champion!” Jean translated, looking at Marco as they hopped up and down together, holding hands. Marco could have sworn they looked like little kids.

“You did it, Jean! Germany did it!” he shouted. Jean leaned in to hear him over the ruckus around them.

Marco’s chest felt like it was about to burst; he grabbed Jean’s cheeks, slamming their lips together. They kissed with a heated passion, full of pride and rejoicing and so much jubilation. Marco heard Jean’s friends wolf whistling, a “you go, boys!” thrown somewhere out into the air. Jean’s flat teeth pulled at Marco’s lower lip. The freckled man pulled back, making a show out of it. His lip snapped back to its normal place when Jean released it. Marco could see the devilish glint in his eyes. Marco felt himself start to go hard in his crotch area.

“Sorry, guys,” Jean said in English to his buddies. “Gonna head out early,”

“You’re no fun!” Sasha protested.

“Gonna go shag your boyfriend, Jean?” Reiner arched a brow at the couple. “Better do it in Mertesacker’s locker before he notices.”

“Shut up!” Jean snapped. Marco stared at Jean with wide eyes.

“You know Mertesacker? The one on Germany’s team?”

Jean shrugged his shoulders. “Not a big deal. Come on, let’s shuffle outta here,” 

They threaded their way out of the stadium right when the camera featured Bastian Schweinsteiger making kissy faces with his teammate. Jean rolled his eyes while Marco gasped, laughing. He was sure everyone liked _that_ move. Schweinsteiger stopped then, shaking a finger at the camera in front of him. The team was awarded with the trophy, each of them taking turns to hold it up. The audience’s reaction was mixed; half crying, the other absolutely gleeful. The two didn’t stick around to see the saddest face Messi ever pulled after a game as he shook hands with authority.

Jean shoved Marco into a bathroom stall, locking the latch behind them. Marco held his hands out, beckoning for his boyfriend to come to him. He did, their lips locking together. Their tongues glided against each other, exploring their hot caverns. They clawed at each other’s clothes; Jean at Marco’s jersey and Marco at Jean’s pants, wanting to get them off but knowing they didn’t have time for that. Still, Jean _tried_...

“Nuh-uh,” Marco shook a finger at Jean, just like Schweinsteiger did to the camera. “No, no, no… Jeean,”

Jean shushed him, “Shhh, don’t get us caught, Marco.”

Now it was time for Marco to roll his eyes at something. “We’re not going to get caught,” he said in a half-whisper. “It’s too loud _everywhere_ to get caught,”

They shared another kiss, Jean fumbling to get Marco’s pants open. He did successfully, pushing his boyfriend’s boxers down to free his cock. The sight of clear liquid already pearling from the tip was such a turn-on. Jean shoved Marco back, forcing him to straddle the toilet. He kneeled down, leaning in. He kept a hand on Marco, stroking him in a slow rhythm. The brunette fixed his eyes on Jean, letting out encouraging noises as he focused on the feeling of Jean’s fingers. He groaned when he felt his boyfriend go down on him.

Jean chortled with his mouth full of Marco’s dick. He slid his eyes closed, fully focusing his attention on his technique. Not that he needed to; Marco would already be enjoying it even if he wasn’t bringing out his best.

Marco moaned, gently kneading his hands into Jean’s soft, blond hair. Something about what Jean did with his tongue made his thoughts run wild and his blood surge with want for the German man. He bucked up into the heat, nearly choking his boyfriend with such force. But Jean encouraged him, mouth relaxing around Marco. He braced himself, placing both of his hands on Marco’s thighs. Marco took that as a chance for him to begin thrusting.

Jean allowed Marco deeper into his mouth, feeling the head hit the back of his throat. He suppressed his gag reflex, knowing well that his boyfriend liked it when he was so willing. Commitment was a big thing for Marco, apparently, and letting Marco fuck his mouth showed just how devoted Jean was to his freckled hunk. Tears brimmed in his eyes, but he stuck to it and hollowed out his cheeks.

“Ah, good Jean,” Marco brought a fist to his mouth.

The blonde looked smug, batting his dark blond eyelashes at his boyfriend now. Marco’s eyes were glazed over, and he swore he could see his own reflection in them. He pressed on a freckled hip, easing him off. Jean took the chance to swoop in and nibble along Marco’s length like corn on the cob. Marco bit his lip, growling. He glared at Jean when the man started to tease the slit of his cock and slap the head onto his tongue over and over again. Marco hit him playfully on the head, jamming his dick back into Jean’s mouth.

Jean slipped down his own pants, palming himself. He sucked Marco hard and good, bobbing his head furiously. He popped off of his boyfriend’s dick when it looked like too much for Marco, earning a whine.

“You coming?” He asked, handling himself with a hand.

“Shit, don’t stop now.” Jean got a rude reply.

“So,” He kissed up and down Marco’s length. “Gimme some sugar, babe.” He downed Marco once more.

His actions proved too much for the freckled man, and he drew his head back, gasping. Pleasure of release hit him as he spilled his seed into Jean’s hot cavern. He gazed up at the restroom lights on the ceiling until he came down from his ecstatic high. Jean stroked himself fast until he was coming, too. He spurt down onto the tiled floor, moaning appreciatively. He pulled off of Marco, holding his boyfriend’s come on his tongue. He tried his best not to swallow, the taste not something Jean fancied, grabbing at the toilet paper. When he emptied his mouth in the tissue, he folded it, wiping up the dirtied ground in front of him. Marco gave Jean a charming smile. Jean returned it, although his smile turned out real goofy looking.

“Come on,” Marco stood, helping Jean off his knees and onto his feet before he himself got off of the toilet. “Let’s celebrate,”

“Heh?” Jean tilted his head teasingly. “Didn’t we just celebrate in here?”

“Ugh, Jean, you know what I mean.” Marco took the wadded-up toilet paper from Jean’s hand and threw it into the toilet bowl. He flushed it, unlatching the door and stalking out, holding the blonde’s hand firmly. He practically hauled his boyfriend’s ass out of the stadium.

Jean couldn’t complain. Marco was being so brave right now, considering he ignored all the weird stares from the others waiting in line to piss.

* * *

Evening rolled around soon enough. Jean and Marco had taken a quick shower, separately, and cat-napped until it was time to get their party on. Reiner had invited them to a club tonight; Marco thought it’d be fun to go, somehow persuading Jean to come with. Bertl and a girl called Annie would be coming to pick them up in an hour.

Jean refused to wear a regular shirt, opting for a red tanktop instead. He slapped on a pair of denim splattered in neon paint, completing his look with sneakers, the yellow shoe laces strung in neatly. He looked decked out even though his outfit was simple. Marco was torn between wearing an outfit similar to Jean’s or going with something completely different. Jean dug into the freckled man’s suitcase, rampaging it.

“What, what are you doing, Jean?” The brunette was catching his clothing left and right, trying to make order out of the chaos Jean created.

“Picking your clothes,” he huffed. “Because _someone_ can’t make a decision… Perfect.” Jean carried back a bundle with him and handed it to Marco. “You’ll look good in this.” He pushed Marco into the bathroom, closing the door. “Change quickly!”

It took some minutes for Marco to jig his way into the clothing Jean had given him. When he deemed himself presentable, the man reached for the doorknob, turning it.

Time seemed to stop as the brunette showed himself from the bathroom. Jean stopped fooling around his phone, taking in the sight of the freckled man. White skinnies clung to Marco’s defined calves and thighs, his shirt showing off how well structured his frame was. Every color in contrast to freckled skin looked almost pastel. Jean ogled at him with one word in his mind: _sexy_. Hell, even Marco knew he himself looked sexy.

“Like what you see?” queried Marco.

Jean nodded cautiously, “Come ‘ere,” Marco did, sliding up next to him. “Why do you have such an outfit here in Brazil?”

“Who knows,” Marco grinned, looking at Jean through long lashes. “I brought whatever I could throw into my suitcase from my wardrobe at home,”

“I wonder how you must look like at home, then,” Jean kissed his boyfriend. Marco twisted away, then dove into Jean’s arms, tackling him to the bed. He peppered the blonde’s neck with smooches, stopping at his Adam’s Apple. 

“Oh, Jean,” Marco breathed. Jean swallowed loudly, right when Marco was about to--

A knock came from the door.

“I hope you two aren’t fucking each other!” came a voice from the other side of the hotel room door. Jean apologized to Marco, both of them getting up from the bed. Jean stomped to the door, swinging it wide open. Marco went to pick up his wallet from the windowsill.

“ _Verdammte Kacke, was soll das? Heh? Was war das denn?_ ” Jean was chewing out someone Marco had never seen. He looked a little younger than the Portuguese man himself, with expressive green eyes. “Anyway,” Jean continued in English, not wanting to count his boyfriend out of the conversation. “Why are you here, Eren?”

“Is that all you’re going to ask me?” Eren scoffed. “Bertl has to take care of Reiner, so he won’t get smashed and end up _smashing_ a table or something. If it makes you feel better, Annie’s here, too.” A blond girl with seemingly sleepy eyes emerged from behind Eren. She made a nod toward Marco.

“Hi,” Marco croaked awkwardly, waving.

“You must be Marco, right?” Eren shoved past Jean. He extended his hand, waiting for Marco to shake it. “I’m Eren.” Marco did, although a little shy.

“Who is _not supposed to be here_ , yes.” Jean added.

“Put a sock in it,” retorted Eren. He turned back to Marco. “Come on, let’s get moving. The party’s already starting.”

Eren turned out to have rented a nice car, with cup holders and a roof that could open in the middle to let in some night air. Jean and Marco had the backseat, able to hog the glory of sticking their head out and getting their hair mused up by the wind. Marco held Jean’s sides as he pushed him up further out of the car, watching the blonde stretch out his arms and let his head fall back. He looked so carefree and happy. Marco felt his heart skip a beat.

They parked, getting into the club with a wristband attached to their wrists, and had to make a holding-hand train just to get through the crowd and try to find Reiner and Bertl.

So many people were dancing and chatting and just plain celebrating. There was so much beer, too. Marco was offered one by Reiner when they got to their table. He passed, going for a _Flieger_ , as Jean called it, which was vodka mixed with energy drink. It definitely suited Marco’s taste better than beer, that was for sure. A lot more potent, too. Jean went off to order some coxinhas for them, knowing how much his boyfriend liked them. He promised he’d be right back, but after ten minutes, he was still nowhere to be found. Marco made little conversations with Bertl, finding out that his name was actually Berthold and that Reiner and him had been best buddies since they were children. After that, however, he was pretty alone. He was on his second drink when he decided to get down on the dance floor to let loose while waiting for Jean. Why not? It seemed like fun.

He hopped down from the booth, asking Bertl to watch over his wallet as he left it on the table. He swayed into the mass of dancing people, finding a tiny pocket where he could still be seen by Reiner and the rest of his group. Marco took a deep breath, in and out, then let himself go.

He moved in sync with the beat, his body like water. He kept his head up, running his hands over his shirt once or twice, feet doing something he never thought he was able to do. He was flexible, bendable, and more than pliable. Those around him noticed this, some grinding up to him. He paid no attention, though. Marco was in his own little world, pushing back all his thoughts and drowning out his senses with music and the feeling of just dancing. He was so caught up that he didn’t catch the way Jean sidled up behind him and practically breathed over his neck until the song mixed into another. Electronic music bounced into his ears then; EDM was so very popular.

Marco turned around to bump his chest with Jean’s. They exchanged tiny hellos before Jean grabbed Marco’s waist, spun him, and led him back to the table. Food was waiting for them there. Glorious, chicken and cheese filled bites of heaven were waiting to get into Marco’s belly at the table.

“Oh my God,” Marco gushed over the food. “How is this so good?” He pocketed his wallet, thanking Bertl with his mouth full.

“I take it that you like it?” Jean hiked his elbows onto the table.

“I do,” Marco munched on another one, sliding the plate to his boyfriend. “Chicken and cheese,” he said. Jean had some of the deliciousness, scowling at Eren as he took the last one.

He observed Marco’s face then, playing over the way the brunette was getting down and dirty on the dancefloor. His boyfriend was amazing, moving like that. He looked so hot swinging his hips this way and that in those white, _fucking_ tight skinnies. Speaking of which, his own pants were starting to become a little tight just thinking about Marco. He’d have to drag the freckled man into another bathroom.

“Cheers!” Reiner raised his mug. “Cheers to our Germany! Cheers to Brazil! Cheers to our team! Cheers to soccer!” Marco raised his nearly empty glass into the air with everyone else, inching toward Jean for a translation.

“Cheers!” Reiner’s party shouted. They drank.

“Hey,” Marco murmured into the shell of Jean’s ear. “Let’s go dancing.”

“Alright,”

The floor seemed to be even more filled than the last time Jean set foot on it, but it didn’t matter. Marco was dancing with him, and that was all that mattered. He wasn’t as suave as the brunette, his motions a little jerky and unbalanced. He really didn’t fit in, trying to match with Shakira’s “La La La” song, but that wasn’t important. Marco was right next to him, eyes fixed on Jean and Jean alone. He was daring, moving so sensually like that. The freckled man knew which places to use, bumping and grinding and jumping to the music. Jean was just happy to stand there and watch his boyfriend. His pants were more and more constricting as Marco raised his hands to the ceiling, over his head, as he wiggled his hips at Jean. He grabbed at Marco’s hands, bringing him down to earth again. He shoved a leg between the brunette’s, getting closer. They shimmied together, singing the simple chorus to each other with smiled plastered to their faces. Temperature rose dramatically until the blonde just couldn’t stand it anymore. Jean took Marco by the shoulder and rushed them to the bathrooms.

It was surprisingly deserted in the restrooms. Not only that, but very sanitary as well. The fluorescent lights hurt Jean’s eyes; he blinked several times before his pupils adjusted. Marco was still getting used to the brightness, squinting.

“God, Marco,” Jean started. “This is surreal.”

“You’re surreal,”

Jean tsked. “Marco, do you know how good you looked out there?” He backed away to the door and locked it. They now had the whole bathroom to themselves.

Marco’s eyes glinted mischievously. “No,” He prowled toward the man until they were pressing against one another. He pretended to look around. “Another WC, Jean? Why do we keep having sex in toilet stalls? Do you have a thing for this?” 

Jean carded his fingers through the freckled man’s silky, dark hair instead of answering. He nipped at Marco’s nose, twisting his pelvis into the brunette’s. Marco bit his lip, whimpering as blood started to rush south. He ran his hand under the man’s shirt, feeling him up and down. His fingers crawled to the waistband of Marco’s white skinnies, unbuttoning them painfully slow. He dragged the zipper down with his teeth, digging into his boxers. He stroked Marco, loving the way the freckled man was gradually becoming red both in his face and cock.

Marco directed Jean back up to his feet, shoving his own pants down with come difficulty. It wouldn’t go past his knees, but that was good enough for Jean. He whipped the freckled man around, getting on the ground again. He positioned Marco to stick his ass out for him. Jean spread him, almost drooling as Marco’s little pucker twitched. He put his tongue to it, coating it in a thick layer of saliva. Marco let out a breathy sigh, pushing himself onto Jean a little more. Being in this position didn’t happen nearly as often, but he positively enjoyed it whenever the chance arose. He ground out a “more”, having Jean suck at his scrotum.

Jean went back to Marco’s entrance, stiffening his tongue as he poked into it repeatedly. He earned a particularly breathless moan from his boyfriend, deciding to sloppily slurp at Marco as he unfolded. The brunette planted his hands onto his legs, as there wasn’t anything else he could hold onto in front of him. He groaned when he felt a wet digit tickle his hole, going over the ring of muscle lightly. It pushed in, and his body accepted it quickly. Jean’s thumb pressed in and out until he decided to shake it in Marco, causing him to squirm and gasp. He pulled it out, slicking his middle and forefinger in his mouth before filling the brunette with them. He scissored his boyfriend, earning rough groans and sighs.

Marco’s thighs were starting to shake, close to collapsing under his weight when Jean felt his way to his sensitive prostate. He dropped his head, the muscle in his mouth hanging out. His brows stitched together when Jean abused his nerve endings.

“Jean,” he breathed, rocking his hips back as much as his body would allow.

Jean dug into his pockets, yanking out a condom. “Got it,” he said, opening the packet, and released his member from the confines of his pants. He rolled the condom on, rubbing his palm over Marco’s spine. “Ready?”

“Ready, ready as I’ll ever be,” Marco panted.

“One second,” Jean hauled the brunette to the sinks, bending him over one so that both of them were staring into the mirror above it.

Jean entered, inching in slowly. Marco shut his eyes closed, groaning. There wasn’t much lubrication, and it was harder to get in. The best Marco could do was bear the pain and hope for the best. His enduring was not in vain; Jean’s hips met with the brunette’s with a few more shallow thrusts. The blonde moaned. Inside Marco was so, so tight and hot and _fuck_. He started to move, his breath coming out in harsh puffs. His boyfriend was gripping the sides of the sink, his knuckles almost as white as the porcelain. Marco met Jean in the middle, forcing himself onto the blonde’s dick as Jean thrust into him. He focused on the heat building between them, getting lost in the motions.

Jean leaned over Marco, his body pressing hard into him. He reached a hand down, firmly holding Marco’s prick. The freckled man was only half hard. No doubt, without much preparation or lube it was bound to be pretty uncomfortable for his partner. He kissed at the nape of Marco’s neck in apology as he sped up. Marco began to open up for his boyfriend, loosening his muscles, contracting less and less than before…

And then it hit.

Marco sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping open. His body sizzled, and he peered into the mirror. His face was flushed red, all the way to the neck, his eyes lazy and pupils blown out. Jean drooled over his neck, a dusting of pink over his fair cheeks. He moaned at the sight. Jean looked so sexy like this.

A banging knock came from the bathroom door, startling the couple. Marco lost his hold on the sink, nearly hitting his head on the faucet. He didn’t, though, catching himself at the last second. Jean slipped out of him though, expecting for the knocking to continue. It didn’t; they both let out a sigh of relief and shared a kiss.

“Let me take care of you,” It was simple, Jean wanted to finish before someone called the staff over to unlock the door.

Marco whined, holding Jean’s shoulders. Rutting between Marco’s thighs, he stroked the underside of Marco’s dick with his own. He moaned loudly, as if he were the one getting it in the ass. Marco almost laughed, _almost_ , echoing the blond when Jean took both of them in his hand and swiping over their heads. Marco squeezed his legs together, seemingly torturing Jean because his face scrunched up adorably.

His abdominal muscles were tensing, signalling he was going to come sooner or later. Judging from the look on Jean’s face, he wasn’t either. A moan spilled from his mouth.

“Jean, coming,” he was able to whisper.

“Do it,” Jean rasped into his ear.

Jean halted, releasing first. He bit at the brunette’s shoulder, leaving teeth marks underneath the fabric of Marco’s shirt. Marco groaned loudly, his sex coming out in short spurts into Jean’s hand. His vision was wrecked with white as he struggled to breathe correctly and stop gasping. They calmed, coming to while staring at each other through the mirror. Marco was chuckling the next moment, his voice a little hoarse despite the little noises he gave out. Jean moved away, chucking the condom into the trashcan, taking a paper towel to his hand and Marco’s member.

“I think I have orgasm asthma,” Marco stated as both of them were redressing themselves.

“What?” Jean scored three points, shooting the dirtied towel into the garbage bin. “Are you okay?”

Marco nodded. “Just have a hard time breathing right after sex,”

“Maybe it’s because I was so good,” the blond helped him stand correctly, guiding him to the exit. He unlocked the door, opening it.

“Oh, ‘door service’,” Marco teased “Thank you,”

Jean laughed. “Just-for-you ‘door service’.”

“ _Thaaank_ you,” The brunette waddled his way out into the club. He reached his hand out to Jean’s.

They walked back to Reiner’s party, holding hands.

* * *

It was time to depart in the airport. Marco and Jean had booked their flights simultaneously so they’d be able to say farewell. Marco’s flight was first, Jean heading out only a couple hours later. They killed time in the terminal, the freckled man buying as much touristy souvenirs as he could without ripping his carry-on bag. Jean had to stop Marco from whipping out his wallet for snacks, begging one time but Marco made fun of him and paid without a thought. They sat together at Starbucks, watching stupid videos on Youtube about accents and stereotypes of both Germany and Portugal. Marco really liked the one that showed how guttural and harsh-sounding the German language was compared to others. That flowed into trying to teach little phrases to each other, all of which ended up becoming gushy and love-filled.

“ _Eu te amo_ ,” _I love you_.

“ _Ich liebe dich_ ,”

“Ick leebah dick?” Marco had a problem with the language.

“Oh, you sure do,” Jean snickered. His boyfriend hit him upside the head. 

“What? What did I say?”

“That you love dick,” Jean was slapped again, although not with much force. Marco scooched his chair closer to Jean. “Ähm, continuing… _Ich brauche dich_ ,” _I need you_.

“ _Eu preciso de você_ ,” the freckled man translated, then paused. In a low voice he said, “ _Você é quem eu sempre procurei. Você me dá asas para voar._ ”

“Eh, what was it?” Jean looked confused but he grinned anyway, trusting that whatever Marco had said was something good.

“I, uh,” Marco chewed on his lip, looking at Jean through his bangs. “You are the one I’ve always searched for.” Jean clammed up, his mouth pursing. “And, a-and that you--, oh never mind, it’s stupid.”

“No it’s not. I promise that I won’t laugh,” Jean assured. “Now spill,”

“You give me wings to fly,” muttered Marco. Jean couldn’t contain his giggles; he shook in his seat. They were about to board their planes and Marco just told him he gave the man wings to _fly_. “Ugh, Jean! You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jean sniffled. He wiped the tears from his eyes.

The intercom went off; Marco’s flight was now boarding. They walked to the gate together, hand in hand. Jean stopped the brunette before he lined up. They embraced, Marco’s nose going red like he was about to burst into sobs. Crying would have to wait until he was seated inside the airplane.

“You know I’ll come see you,” Marco’s voice was laced with sadness.

“I know.” Jean pet Marco’s head as gently as he could. “ _Ich liebe dich_ ,”

“I love you, too, Jean.”

They kissed, sweet and slow, emotions slowly wrecking their insides. Jean’s stomach was becoming spliced by those damn butterflies. Marco felt as if he were losing half of himself that very moment. They smiled at one another, the blonde waiting until Marco was walking onto the bridge.

“Marco,” he shouted then.

“Yes?” A glimpse of dark hair around the curve of the bridge.

“ _Ich liebe dich_...”

“Aw, Jean--,”

“And _du liebst_ DICK,” yodeled Jean.

There were surprised shrieks from the to-be-boarded passengers as Marco ran all the way from the end of the bridge to slug Jean square in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the face, Marco!  
> Thanks so much for hanging with me, everyone! Let's see each other in the near future.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't redirect your eyes anywhere else but to that button for kudos, Kirstein!
> 
> Liked the fic? Why not give it some kudos? A comment is even better.


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